Tag: healing

MEDICINE OF GRIEF

by Maasaisis

I am here, and she is not. She crossed the threshold two years ago to a place where the living can’t go. I sat with her and watched her close her eyes for the last time. I tenderly washed her porcelain body that shared a similar affliction as mine. In that extraordinary experience of witnessing true surrender, I both shattered and found healing in my heart. Sitting with death in such an intimate way brought to the surface what I hid inside. Beneath the surface of my blessed life lives the terror of leaving all that I cherish behind.

Every death caused by cancer unleashes a torrent of fear and grief. No matter how I try to reframe it with the belief that we are not our bodies, finality is a wound that heals and reopens with every loss. My beloved sister’s passing affected me deeply, and I wasn’t sure if I could show up. There was a constant tug of war between my love for her and the trauma of losing her.

How can I honour those who have passed without casting the dark shadow of death upon myself? How can I allow grief to meet grace? How can I nurture the resistance to push it away? How do I balance my capacity to honour what is mine to heal and showing up for those that I love? These were my prayers as the days drew closer to celebrating my dear friend who chose death for her liberation.

Ultimately, love wins. It was the rallying force of all those who loved her that called me back to join the circle of her radiance.The beautiful thing about grief is that it breaks us open and connects us in the most primordial way. It strips away the layers that keep us apart, exposing the glue that binds us together as One. Grieving for one thing is the same as grieving for all things. It doesn’t need to be named or categorized. It’s all the same, and there lies the medicine for us all.

Legendary stories were spun in the circle of friends who gathered for our beloved Scarlet. I was in awe that even after two years, she had the ability to bring us together again in such a profound way. In showing up, we consciously chose to harness her medicine for collective healing.

When I spoke in the circle, I couldn’t voice the truth of my grief. Instead, I found myself hovering in a safer place, sharing inappropriate stories and recalling her gift to make others shine. For those who knew her well, it was perfectly appropriate to celebrate her in this way.

I couldn’t speak out what was really there. I couldn’t say that I felt abandoned by her choice to leave or that I wanted her to fight harder because that is the voice of my own fear, and it’s mine to transmute.

I was a year into life with cancer by the time she was diagnosed. My coping mechanism stemmed from my incessant need to understand the origin of my disease. I empowered myself with discipline and sought knowledge—I refused to be a victim to the disease. She, however, was terrified. There were times when we could be together, and other times when her fear was too much of a trigger for me. I just couldn’t show up for her without completely unraveling myself.

I believed my role was to be strong, to assure her everything would be okay because ultimately I needed to believe it myself. When I couldn’t fulfill that, I thought it best to hide, to stay away, convincing myself we both needed to walk our own paths. Perhaps there could have been healing for both of us in falling apart together. Maybe I should have invited her into the domain of my own vulnerability, but at the time, I clung to the safety structure I’d built for my own survival, unable to let go. What I know now is that regret often accompanies grief, and the only path for healing is through forgiveness.

My beloved friend understood that I was shaking below the surface of my brave demeanor. She knew I couldn’t allow myself to fracture while facing my own mortality. Perhaps she thought I would try to change her mind? Maybe that’s why she didn’t tell me she was leaving, and why it took the power of the Holy Spirit to bring me to her side to witness her departure, to cast aside my terror and be there when it counted.

If it weren’t for the sequence of universal nudges that alerted me to what was happening, I would have missed the greatest gift Scarlet had to offer me. It wasn’t the gift of her healing from the disease; it was the gift of showing me that grace can accompany the greatest act of letting go. She cut the cord to life and allowed us to bear witness, showing us that we can come together and find closeness in what we all must face.

She continues to help me fill in the deep groove of fear from the other side. She encourages me to fall apart because no matter how many pieces are spread out all over the place, the glue is always tacky for love to put us together again. Her mighty spirit lives on in all of us.

I oscillate between lessons on the dichotomy of mortal and immortal teachings. The teachings from Spirit reinforce that our innate nature cannot be augmented, diminished, or extinguished, while the lessons from life remind us of our finite humanity. Through these teachings, we are brought together in the human experience, guiding us to embrace the unknowable. Together, we bridge the gap through our shared grief, vulnerabilities, regrets, and imperfections, forging a path towards what cannot be broken.

LESSON: I AM NOT A BODY. I AM FREE- LESSON 199 IN A COURSE IN MIRACLES



In Memory of Scarlet Mary Rose “Mother Of All”- By Maasa

RIGHT MINDEDNESS

by Maasaisis

Two steps forward, one step back—every proverbial bump on the road is a reset, a reminder to truly be grateful to be here. My purpose is just that: to find joy and fulfillment in all that I have now, in simply being alive. This was the potent reminder as I ended up in the emergency room with another gnarly staph infection.

Round two, just three months after the last, returned with confirmation from all four vials of the blood cultures: bacteria in my blood, a perfect breeding ground for sepsis. Experience truly is knowledge. It hit hard and fast; the familiar dull ache beneath my right shoulder blade and the dead weight of my arm jolted me awake in the middle of the night. Though I remembered the last time, exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I drifted back into a fitful sleep.

When I awoke, the huge red patch stamped on my breast confirmed what I already knew. I swiftly packed up and headed to the ER with a sense of urgency. Despite catching it earlier than last time, by the time I got registered, pain enveloped me, and my bones quivered from an unshakeable chill. Triage quickly recognized the urgency of my discomfort, and I was moved through the process swiftly, aided by my clear articulation of what was wrong.

One of my favorite doctors was on duty, which felt like my first miracle of the day. Given that it was round two of what felt like a Groundhog Day ordeal, I was relieved it wasn’t the same doctor as last time. That doctor’s bedside manner left me feeling more vulnerable than I already was—the one who made me feel like I was fighting a losing battle.

I was quickly put on IV antibiotics, and although I felt like I’d been hit by a bus, I knew it was only a matter of time for the peak to subside. Armed with the understanding gained from previous experiences, I simply needed to endure. That night, I burned up with a 39.8-degree fever, shivering and sweating my way through delirium. The bulk of the healing occurred that night; it was as if my body knew exactly what to do to expedite the process because it had imprinted this particular program from last time.

The irony was that even in such a volatile state, I was awed by the vital strength within me to create such an inferno, burning away the infection. It takes an incredible amount of energy to burn that hot, and I had the capacity to harness that power. I felt my mighty spirit ablaze—a reminder that the spirit invariably outweighs the body. This is why I continue to gravitate towards practices that tether me to Spirit. My fire burned all night and smouldered into the morning. I knew I was over the hump, and the scarlet stamp confirmed it by turning the tone down a couple of shades.

It’s safe to say that the infection sprung from my ulcerated tumor, serving as a doorway for bacteria to infiltrate. Being immunocompromised from targeted treatment therapy, it’s no surprise that my defenses were breached. Despite the unwelcome presence of bacteria in my bloodstream, this experience empowered me to seek ways to prevent a recurrence. I must strengthen my immune system without compromising my treatment plan. I need to find that delicate balance, the middle way, even at a cellular level.

Prior to this bump on the road, I felt a strong urge to dive back into A Course In Miracles. It took me about a year and a half to read through the text initially, and I just scratched the surface of my understanding. The universe responded quickly to the harkening of this nudge. The very next day, I received a gift from someone I barely know. My dad texted me a picture of a beautiful, brand new hardcover copy of ACM from a different publisher than the one I had read. ‘Our neighbour gave this to me to give to you,’ his text said. I was gobsmacked. My old paperback copy was battered and falling apart, so this swift response felt like a resounding ‘yes, get to it!’

The nurse in triage looked so sad and depressed. When I asked her how she was, she curtly replied, ‘I’m OK.’ I got the swift message not to engage any further. The teachings of A Course In Miracles emphasize right-mindedness in attaining liberation from the perception of reality that divides us from our indivisible nature. Forgiveness and love lead to eternal inner peace, and this can only happen through the recognition of the inherent unity of all beings. Salvation is a collective effort rooted in reciprocation.

I decided to practice and attempt to remove the obstruction in my perception that caused me to see the woman before me as broken. The Course states that healing can only happen through a correction in our perception of what we see on the outside and by removing the obstacles of separation. As she took my temperature and blood pressure, I sat and perceived her as perfect love. I peeled away the layers of her experience that brought pain to the surface to unveil her wholeness. It was a very difficult task, as I witnessed my own brokenness.

She seated me in my chair to receive my potent dose of IV antibiotics. I decided not to fill the space between us with meaningless conversation, which is what I would normally do to try and ‘fix’ the awkwardness. Instead, I continued to practice perceiving her in her innate perfection. Behind the sadness, I saw the gentle beauty in her eyes. She hooked me up, and that’s when the miracle happened. She engaged. She could have walked away and avoided me, but instead, she asked me what I did. I told her that I used to massage, but I was taking time off for healing, and that healing had transformed me into an artist.

I showed her the rosary I’d made that I was wearing and shared that I was also a painter. I thought the conversation would end there, but she asked if there was a way she could see my paintings. Surprised and delighted, I proceeded to show her a few of my paintings on my phone. She took her time looking at the images. She shared with me that she and her daughter engaged in art therapy together, finding great benefit from the experience. In turn, I explained how intentional creativity played a significant role in my healing journey. Suddenly, I was aware that we were truly in each other’s presence. Her entire demeanour shifted before my eyes. The depressed-looking woman changed into a beautiful woman with incredibly compassionate eyes.

The doctor with the questionable bedside manner was on duty when I was ordered back to the emergency room for a re-check. It was another opportunity to course-correct from our last interaction. Bracing myself for his insensitive, matter-of-fact demeanor, I was shocked to be greeted by an informative and kind professional. He took the time to explain in detail what my body was fighting and why we needed to continue treatment even though I was feeling better. With his mask off, I saw that he was completely different from how I remembered him. No longer the doom-and-gloom doctor, he even gave me a ‘whoop’ of a cheer when I told him I was feeling much better. It was like a complete warp in reality had occurred. This is what the Course calls a miracle.

May I not get entangled in fear, doubt, and my bodily experience. May I rest in the liberated state of that which I already am in right-mindedness. May I be tethered to eternal and unconditional love. May I perceive heaven here on earth. May I perceive wholeness in all. May I find refuge in Your gentle and tender embrace. May I be reminded when I forget. Amen.

LESSON: HEAVEN IS A STATE OF MIND

The Miracle Effect

THE MIDDLE WAY

by Maasaisis

My first call to action upon waking on Mother’s Day was to reach over to my bedside table, gather the orange bottles of opiates, and put them away out of reach. It was a conscious decision to let go, a psychological statement that I didn’t need them anymore. I had relied on those pills to get me through intolerable nights of pain. As I placed them in a drawer in the bathroom, my sense of liberation from dependency was tinged with the fear of possibly needing them again.

I had strung together a few weeks, delighted by my capacity to accomplish what I could not fathom only a couple of months ago. I moved my parents into their new home, spending three full days proactively creating the next rendition of their sanctuary. I noticed that my pace in approaching life is much slower yet more meaningful, and with this approach, I managed to get more done in a day than when I used to run around like a headless chicken. Time bends when I’m synced in the moment.

My heart stalled in anticipation when the doctor called to discuss my most recent PET scan result. The test would indicate my biological response to the initial three months of treatment. I’ve noticed that I’m much more cautious about trusting my own experience now. Cancer has taught me that I am not the one in charge—that clinging to any rigid way of thinking or being will become a trap. In order to continue on this path, I must always leave room to pivot. If I cling too hard, I won’t be able to let go and flow with what is happening.

I had to repeat what she said to anchor the meaning. ‘One of my tumors shrunk by half?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘it looks as though you are responding well to treatment.’ She continued to explain that the spread in my sternum, pec, lymph nodes, and chest wall had all shrunk in varying degrees. Additionally, she noted that the numerous suspicious spots in my liver and lungs appear to be inactive. ‘We certainly have to keep an eye on your liver and lungs, but all in all, this is good news,’ she said. Beyond the positive news, I nestled into the relief that I could trust the signals my body was giving me. It’s as if I’m also healing the part of myself that feels like I don’t know anything anymore.

Finding the middle way in response to life has proved to be effective in navigating all this. In respect to who I am, it’s important to still have a ‘w’holistic approach with an eagle eye expansive view. I’ve followed the doctors’ advice to forgo supplements, herbs, and protocols that stimulate my immune system while I acclimate to treatment. However, these powerful drugs I’m taking have potentially concerning long-term side effects that I want to address. Now, it’s time to adopt a collaborative approach to assist healing while promoting longevity.

The master herbalist I connected with has decades of experience using herbs and medicinal foods as powerful allies in cancer care. When we spoke, I immediately felt a connection. We both agreed on the importance of supporting my immune response while fortifying the function of my organs. She will also be prescribing ‘herbal chemo’ to seek and destroy cancer cells. I particularly appreciated her collaborative approach and her knowledge of pharmaceutical drugs used in oncology treatments. She confirmed that I should absolutely stay on my current treatment plan and strengthen its effectiveness with her protocol.

It’s important to me to be transparent with my oncology team and to receive their support. My herbalist would need regular blood testing to ensure that the herbs are beneficial, a process that my doctors may or may not initiate. As I continue to embrace vulnerability and reach out for assistance when needed, I’ve been overwhelmed by the heartfelt support from those around me. I’m discovering that the more I allow myself to be seen authentically, help finds its way to me in one way or another. Now, I find myself surrounded by a diverse circle of powerful allies – from the experienced professionals guiding my treatment to the unwavering love and support of my family and friends, and to the One listening to my prayers and showing me the way.

After the liberty of pain-free days, the return of what feels like electric jellyfish shocks bouncing around my sternum and breast is a hard pill to swallow. While pain is never welcomed, my intuition tells me that the herbal protocol is working because it feels like the cancer cells are agitated and on the run. It feels like they are contracting and wanting to escape from inside of me. The inflamed, angry cherry on the contour of my breast has opened up, weeping blood and contributing to the burning pain. From the loss of my hair to my lopsided swollen boob with a protruded discharging lump, my ego has been kept well in check. My sense of humour remains intact.

In the spirit of the middle way, I’m leaning on the knowledge of German New Medicine as it now serves as a kind of safety net for me. I’ve learned that the healing phase in any tissue is usually painful, swollen, and messy, much like how a wound heals. Even emotional healing often precedes a messy and painful period. I’m straddling between what I think is happening and who the fuck knows, while conscious of how easy it is to fall into the dark territory of fear. So… I continue to pray. Instead of morphine pills to manage the discomfort, I’m drinking herbal poppy concoctions which takes the edge off and assists me into sleep without the nasty side effects. Currently, this plan is manageable as I ride out this wave.

The Middle Way forges a path between the known and unknown. The practice of finding neutral ground and doing whatever it takes to stay there. It’s about finding balance between what my spirit yearns for and what my body needs. It’s about appreciating my vitality without pushing it too far into expectation, and about not assuming anything while respecting change. Understanding that there is no ‘right’ way to do anything, only opportunities to respond to life without pushing it away or clinging too hard.

LESSON: The Middle Way is the path of wisdom and compassion, the path of balance and harmony. It is the path that leads to the cessation of suffering.” – Buddha

THROUGH THE PEEPHOLE

by Maasaisis

The efforts I fought for months ago have had a ripple effect with a double-edged sword. One edge inflicts deep wounds, while the other cuts out a small opening, a peephole through which I can glimpse a shimmer of gold amid the ashes. Six months ago, the PET scan results hurled me into the ‘metastatic’ category as my liver illuminated with suspicious activity. The impact of this news swiftly plunged me into denial. I sought to reinforce it with my own rationale, other than metastasis, for why there might be areas of increased sugar uptake in the fastest-regenerating organ of my body.

Since cells involved in healing processes also consume more glucose and thus appear brighter in a PET scan, I converted my shock into a more digestible explanation. To gain further insight into my liver’s condition, I requested an MRI, known for its detailed imaging of soft tissue. However, my requests were repeatedly denied on the grounds that the evidence of metastasis in the PET scan was deemed sufficient.

At the time, I wasn’t prepared to accept a treatment plan based on mere assumptions. I fought tooth and nail until my local MD relented under my plea for an MRI. I’m immensely grateful that my care providers have flexible boundaries that stretches open when I advocate strongly for myself. Finally, after all these months, I underwent the MRI a couple of weeks ago.

When the results appeared in my inbox, I leaned on the pillar of strength from my morning prayers. Despite the adversities and hardships that comes with the walk that I am walking, I’m most grateful for the enduring strength of Spirit that holds me up when I’m shaking. I was hoping that whatever was there in my liver would be gone after three months of being on treatment. The new hair growth, return of my appetite, and increased stamina seemed promising signs of healing. Nevertheless, the results revealed at least four nodules in my liver, and this time, I didn’t push it aside into denial or search for alternative explanations. I allowed the truth of what is slam right into me.

I surrendered to the cathartic waves of emotions that surged violently within me, crashing with relentless force. I felt it all without trying to cling, and in that surrender, their progression seemed to hasten. As the initial intensity of this reality settled, I willed my mind to soar high above and gain a broader, panoramic perspective of the situation. This isn’t new information; it’s confirmation of previous findings indicating mutant activity in my liver. It’s clarity that must be accepted—a crucial baseline for the path ahead.

Resisting acceptance will only erect roadblocks on the path I must walk. My journey demands unwavering faith and patience—a continuous dance of fluidity and adaptability. I must navigate my current reality while remaining anchored to what cannot be touched by this disease. I must keep the light of my spirit burning, even when the room goes dark around me. It’s in this choice, available to me, that I can discover gifts in the most unpredictable places.

The gift I received came in the form of a timely call from a different oncologist than the one I usually see. Just hours after I had read the results on my computer screen, he reached out to share his interpretation of the findings—a perspective far less terrifying than my own. He explained that in cancer treatment, success isn’t solely measured by achieving remission but also by stabilization. According to him, the MRI results didn’t necessarily indicate anything new; rather, they provided additional insight into what we already suspected. He offered me a different vantage point to consider.

Perhaps these nodules are smaller than before. Maybe they’ve stabilized, given that they’re all still relatively small. It’s possible that between November and February, when I began treatment, the nodules grew significantly, and what we’re seeing now is evidence that the treatment is indeed effective. Like light passing through a prism, every situation can reveal a different picture depending on the angle from which you view it.

The persistence in pursuing an MRI screening brought yet another gift. With a clearer baseline established, I now have the opportunity for regular MRI tests in the coming months to monitor my liver. Unlike x-rays, CT scans, and PET scans, MRI imaging doesn’t emit radiation and is non-invasive—a fact worth celebrating. When it comes to monitoring treatment, it’s crucial to compare apples to apples, so to speak, as each screening modality offers unique information.

After three months on treatment, the true gauge of its effectiveness lies in comparing PET scan results. Last week, I embarked on a solo journey, driving hours to undergo another PET scan. As I await the results in the coming week, I remain buoyant on my raft of certainties. I’m grateful for the vitality that was absent just a couple of months ago, for the nurturing love of my friends and family, and for the immeasurable power of Spirit that continues to light my way. Everything else is not evident in now.

LESSON: Life is 10% what happens to us and 90% how we react to it. – Charles R. Swindoll

THE ROSE CIRCLE

by Maasaisis

My heart has blossomed open, leaving the core of the bloom exposed and tender to all nuances of life. Perhaps it’s the hormone medications that have fueled my emotional liberation; perhaps I no longer need to armor up. There is a clear border between life before and after cancer. My life before was a constant rush of ticking off boxes on my never-ending to-do list. I lived at full throttle speed where busyness equated to success, leading me to keep even those I love at a distance. Trauma was a distraction extinguished like a candle before it could burn.

I now look back from the perch of my unhurried way of life, where nothing more has to be acquired or achieved. My days unfold naturally, like a flower opening up to the sun. There is no forcing or pressing against it. This way of allowing life to come to me, rather than chasing it or repressing it, has been the greatest gift bestowed upon me by my greatest adversity. I am at ease with taking time, and I know when to stop and be still. I’m finding spaciousness in places I’ve missed before.

After my last ER episode, a beautiful new practice of praying the rosary came into my life to sustain me. Although I don’t adhere to any organized religion, I’ve always relied on the power of prayer and meditation to still my mind. However, lately, I’ve struggled to find solace in meditation. The many voices in my head seem to overpower the peace I seek. The sobering experience of my health deteriorating rapidly made having something tangible to hold onto more than just a metaphor.

Da encouraged me to watch Tammy Peterson’s interview, where she shared how she healed from terminal cancer through praying the rosary. Tammy’s testimony, attributing her daily prayers to curing her cancer, deeply inspired me. I retrieved an old rosary, a gift from my mama that lay dormant on my altar and searched for instructions on how to pray the rosary. While I was well-acquainted with the Lord’s Prayer, Hail Mary was less familiar to me, and the mysteries represented by the decades of the beads did not really resonate with me. I didn’t feel a connection to the wooden rosary with a bulky cross which inspired the idea to make my own.

I came across the perfect meaningful objects for the creation of my divine feminine rosary: a beautiful Guadalupe talisman from my mama, symbolizing grace, healing, and love, and a gold Scottish thistle passed down to me from my aunt. This thistle was given to her by my grandparents in 1965 when she left Scotland and immigrated to Canada. Additionally, I found a little cross from a beaded bracelet that my daughter begged me to buy but no longer satisfied her fashionable taste. It was important to me that the divine masculine was also represented in my special rosary, so I incorporated the cross that once belonged to my daughter, bringing her into my rose circle. I chose rosewood beads for the mother beads and yellow jade for the father beads, and thus my powerful tool for prayer, carrying the essence of my family’s love and connection, came to be.

The felt sense of spinning the beads between my fingers as I pray has amplified my faith. A personal mother prayer landed into my awareness, resonating with my request for her guidance. I was gifted the Aramaic translation of the Lord’s Prayer from a beloved, which opens my heart for the Father beads. Instead of the traditional dedication to the mysteries, what resonates with me is to dedicate the first decade to my personal heartfelt prayer. The second set of ten is for prayers of gratitude. The third is dedicated to those I want to pray for, the fourth for our ancestors, and the fifth, I return home to myself, Gaia, and welcome whatever may come up.

On low-energy days, I sit and bead rosaries, finding peace in creating meaningful tools of prayer. As I make them, someone always comes to mind to gift it- to whom I know will appreciate and use it. One day, while I was praying the rosary while walking in the forest, I received the message to show others how to make them. After all, there is power in crafting your own prayer tool! For the first time in ages, I felt like this was something I could offer without depleting my energy — to offer it in an easy, authentic way to those who feel called to join the circle.

My vision came to fruition as a circle of thirteen sisters gathered in my home. After months of winter isolation due to my health crisis, this was a welcome shift of energy with loving friends. Coming together in creative ceremony with others who yearned for heartful connection was incredibly meaningful and nourishing. We all shared a common desire to pray together and be in each other’s presence. Something magical is bubbling up to the surface with this recognition, and I feel its importance deeply. In these changing times, we need the support of each other and feel the sustainment of something much bigger.

In opening our rose circle, we are now connected to all through prayer. In a time where disconnect—the ailment of separation that can only lead to disharmony—the rose circle is one way for us to heal together. This is the gift I received from praying the rosary: the gift of knowing that we can come together and be held in a circle where we are all of the same.

LESSON: WE ARE ALL OF THE SAME

THE JEWELS INSIDE

by Maasaisis

Enlightenment is each time I awaken to something that brings about a radical, positive shift in my state. I don’t believe it to be a destination, attainable only by those who possess something others may not. You don’t have to be a spiritual master to wake up to yourself. The Holy instant in which I received such an awakening sprung with the budding energy of spring.

I’ve had this insight before; the remembrance emerged from the familiarity that resurfaced. It broke free from the heavy layers of symptoms and survival that had kept me from retrieving it. When I landed back in my ‘aha’ moment, it became abundantly clear that I had become a victim of my circumstance and operating from a place of brokenness. I was living life intently focused on the need to be fixed.

The cascading effect of my physical deterioration over the last five months tested every aspect of my being. There were times when I felt the absence of the only thing that gave me a semblance of assurance: my faith. When my connection to the Divine felt lost, I retreated into shutdown mode and escaped into drugged sleep. I latched my mindset on surrender but in doing so, I allowed myself to primarily be a cancer patient.

The grace of all that is good always finds its way back to me. This is how I continue to have faith. In one auspicious moment, I clearly understood that, even with many insights along the way, the frequency of how I was operating stemmed from a place of sickness. My language had morphed into a lingo of struggle, amplified by my symptoms. But how can I hope to heal if I continue to put out signals of being diseased? If my cells need to remember what they were before they became mutants, I must remind them with my imagination and infuse it with feeling. Energy flows where attention goes.

The challenge lies in catching my response to strong physical sensations that screams disease. If I can just acknowledge it’s presence without suppressing it or labelling it, it creates an opening to transmute it into something that I can let go of. In that sense, surrendering truly becomes a tool for living rather than merely surviving.

My legs are pumping the pedals on a smooth incline that weaves through the dense forest. I can smell the earthy, damp essence emanating from the tribe of trees. My heart pumps vital blood for the optimal functioning of my athletic body. My muscles are solid and strong, every cell nourished and exuding vitality. Sunlight streams in between the trees, revealing the emerald green of moss blanketing rocks and the base of tree trunks. My bike is an extension of me, responding to my will with speed and clean lines. Gratitude overwhelms me as I take in the beauty around me. I can hear Al riding right behind me. He is always there in moments that count the most. At the summit, overlooking Gaia’s magnificent vista, we respond to awe with presence.

I continue to revisit this visualization as often as possible, engaging my felt senses. Even though I’m not there yet, it’s important to acknowledge how far I’ve come rather than focusing on the distance left to travel. There has been significant improvement compared to how I was between December and February, when getting out of bed was a monumental task. Now, I can take long walks without crashing after, go grocery shopping and cook dinner for my family.

The evidence of my healing is showing up in unexpected places. I’m recognizing that this stripped-down version of me has created a much wider space in my heart to feel. Allowing others to see me as I am has enabled me to soften into their presence. I’m able to receive love which has become my medicine.

So many have prayed for me and held me through the most vulnerable of times. Living in a small community where I’ve resided for the last two decades, the kind folks of this town remind me that I’m loved and that I matter. I’ve fallen into the arms of people whom I barely know, in tears when asked how I’m doing, only to be held in the loving way of a long-time beloved. My heart swells with every meaningful gesture from another. To forgive myself when I forget and lean into remembering. I didn’t have the ability to be this way before this wisdom disease came to mentor me. My outer shell was too hard to crack for the jewels to be found inside.

LESSON: ENERGY FLOWS WHERE ATTENTION GOES

LIFE IN PRESENT TENSE

by Maasaisis

I regretted asking the moment the doctor responded. Until today, I had never inquired about my official diagnosis. Did it not matter to me because I’m focused on the work to get better, or did I simply not want to know? ‘It’s stage four,’ she said. She didn’t have to finish with an extended explanation and we both knew it. My stomach dropped as her words instantly filled the hollow in my gut. Though I knew this to be true, it had been tucked away in a no-access zone, hidden out of sight and out of mind.

My coping mechanism oscillates between faith and denial, with only a thin veil separating the two. I’m learning that adversity is an invitation to awaken to my response to life. Struggles only arise when I compare myself to my past self or when I’m overwhelmed by what might happen to me in the future. Both tendencies make me miss what’s possible now.

I was fine until I asked. I even impressed myself with my ability to detect the early stage of another staph infection, which was the reason I was sitting in the doctor’s office in the first place. Instead of being upset about another recurrence only a couple of weeks after the last, I chose to be grateful that I caught it early this time instead of landing in the ER again. Instead of resisting another round of antibiotics, I accepted what needed to be done given the circumstance. I showed her my breast, and she noted how much better it looked, confirming how I felt. But everything changed when I was put into a category.

The power of two words spoken aloud by someone else instantly created a different reality. It contradicted the feedback from my body, which suggested that despite the expected side effects, the treatment is working. I recognized my visceral reaction, which prompted a sudden shift in my state. The chill that ran through me seemed to extend into the future, yet it felt like just one of many potential versions, too elusive to keep me in a state of panic. My wise friend reminded me that a diagnosis is not a prognosis. With this reassurance, I return to the baseline of what I know to be true in this moment, focusing on all that is well within me rather than fearing what could go wrong.

I continue to meet myself as life unfolds before me. Today, I was granted the grace to observe my reaction and respond in a manner that felt more authentic than succumbing to the abyss of ‘what ifs.’ I became aware that I attributed meaning to those words based on conditioning that was not mine and not based on where I’m at now. There is no future, only now and now and now.

With the residue of Doc’s words still echoing in my mind, I drove home, recognizing the weight inside me. I allowed myself the catharsis of tears to release it. Seeking solace in the forest, I clung onto a sturdy tree. Shinrin-Yoku, the Japanese practice of forest bathing, has continually brought me home to myself. Amidst the trees, I felt the cleansing stillness wash away what was not serving me. Anchored in the solid embrace of a cedar, I calibrated to its unwavering presence. My senses opened to the palpable calm around me as I slowly exhaled.

I asked myself: ‘What is true in this very moment?’ The answer came with ease: ‘I’m safe, I’m okay, I am not in imminent danger.’ Such certainty is only available in present tense.

I’m aware that my grievances stem from reaching towards life without cancer, from being free from interruptions of symptoms, and from having limitations. Yet, my quest for purpose is unfolding in the present. This is my purpose—to find a way to meet myself as I am and find ease in the midst. There is always a choice to accept or resist. The gift lies in having a choice, even when it may not feel readily available. It’s okay to shake and shudder until the moment leads to something else. It always does.

Each moment serves as a meeting place for the full gradation of possibilities of how I can engage with my life. It’s a beautiful life, filled with the diverse shades of the human experience. To be asleep to it, lost in denial, is to miss the essence of my purpose. This, perhaps, is the most profound lesson showing me the way to liberation in any given moment. .

METAMORPHOSIS

by Maasaisis

My morning ritual involves cupping my right breast and feeling for magical changes while I slept. It’s natural to assume since my cherry-sized tumour transformed into a baseball rapidly, the reversal will be just as swift. The transformation erupted like a volcano, spreading ‘lava’ to distant sites within my chest wall, sternum, and liver while I was preoccupied with life. But the recession of this rapid process diverges from the original route and crawls through uncharted territory. The path backward is slow, hot and sticky, lava begrudgingly receding from whence it came, and only God knows if it will return at all.

After a month and a half of treatment, the ball feels tighter, and perhaps even slightly smaller, though my optimism could be playing tricks on me. Doc says that the visible changes we anticipate seeing in the coming months will reflect what I can’t see inside. My lump is the barometer of my healing and it’s slow going like watching my hair grow. Rarely do things happen quickly when we want them badly. Rarely does hope make predictable affirmations.

It’s only when we look back from a different vantage point that we sometimes glimpse just how adept we are at avoiding conflict. During the months when my tumour supersized, I gave myself every reason not to worry. Those reasons were convincing enough to override the alarming rate of growth that suddenly became evident through my shirt. My rationale for not worrying was firmly rooted in what I’ve learned and confirmed over the years while walking with this disease. Yet, it was only when pain arrived and amplified that my rationale became a threat. Survival is a great motivator to ditch the rule book and rewrite it.

I’m sitting in the waiting room, caught between who I was and who I am becoming. I’m waiting to become the person without this disease. I’m waiting for a time when I’m not orbiting around cancer. But what will change? There is some kind of slow metamorphosis underway, yet it’s impossible to recognize it’s shape. Will I wake up one morning and leave the waiting room? Will I emerge as a version of myself that knows what’s next?

Creativity is my compass. Through art and words I’m making some kind of a meaningful artifact of this time in between. It’s a place to direct my energy other than to focus on what my body is doing or not doing. This refuge can be elusive at times, yet it often reveals itself in surprising ways, giving me clues to where I am. I suppose this is how I’m getting to know myself in different ways than before.

I continue to fight the urge to pick up and leave, to act on my nature of movement and momentum, and to embark on a solo adventure. Beyond the anchor of my physical limitations that keep me from leaping into this fantasy, there is a wise voice telling me to stay. It reminds me that the pilgrimage has already been well underway, that the destination remains unknown, and that I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Perhaps we are all in a state of continual metamorphosis. Change can happen rapidly or simmer slowly, taking time for the ‘goo’ to take shape, only to shift again in response to life’s experiences. Perhaps we never recognize ourselves as transformers until something compels us to look back. The only constant is change, and perhaps we are meant to make peace with that cliche—not to resist it, but to watch it unfold and mold ourselves into it as it happens.

SOULFIRE

by Maasaisis

Learning anything new requires practice before the frustration and discomfort start to ease. It’s akin to arriving in a new country with unfamiliar language and customs. We crave familiarity because within what we know, we can navigate predictably. We gather life experiences to establish a standard of living, so when that is forced to change, struggle is inevitable.

We must learn to crawl before we walk, but returning to crawling after knowing how to walk can feel demeaning. However, viewing the world from a different perspective can bring new meaning and challenge what we thought we knew. Certainty is a perception that does not leave any room for growth.

I used to be so confident in my certainly which allowed me to attain so much in my life. The attainment accelerated as I got older and gathered more to be confident about. My appearance, my vitality, and the knowledge I consumed and shared crafted a narrative of success. But why then was it never enough? Why didn’t I feel satisfied?

I’m contemplating the borders of what success once meant to me. It was crucial for me to be recognized as a strong, beautiful, talented and independent woman capable of achieving anything she set her mind to. The umbilical cord of my value was always attached to serving others in a meaningful way, yet beneath the surface of that admirable pursuit lay a less glamorous reality. My outward expression was a super imposed version of what I did not want to feel. I buried my insecurities deep within, amplifying my mission whenever they tried to resurface.

The fire of ambition was fuelled by big dreams and new challenges, most of which I attained. Still, it was never enough, and I continually sought new ways to feed that fire by learning and integrating fresh approaches into my expression. I’ve taken countless courses and pursued numerous endeavours, always seeking something new, exciting, and noteworthy to satisfy the hunger deep within.

Now, in my inability to blaze my way forward, I’m granted the opportunity to make peace with the domineering doer and allow myself to be exactly as I am. To seek ease of being without the pressure to become anything more or less. In exchange for my willingness, I’m given glimpses of aspects of myself that are ripe for healing. What would it be like to approach the unfolding path with curiosity about where it leads, rather than a relentless pursuit of achievement? What will be known by not knowing anything?

The irony lies in this soulful invitation occurring at the most fragile time in my life. Without the loud expression of the persona I once strove to embody, I’m beginning to hear wisdom from a quiet yet powerful voice. This disease is unveiling the stripped down version of me so I can let her be just as she is and be enough. What I want now can’t be found by reaching for it. Peace, containment and ease is like the space in between the breath. It’s always there but easy to miss.

Even in this vulnerable state, I’m cradled by an invisible, tender embrace. Held in this way, my heart unfolds gently, like a rose unfurling to reach the warmth of the sun. There’s a beckoning to return to that which I’ve always been and to what yearns to be known. Not all at once, but in meaningful ways that keeps my Soulfire burning bright.

LESSON: EASE OF BEING IS NOT SOMETHING TO ATTAIN BUT RATHER TO ALLOW.

TUG OF WAR

by Maasaisis

I thought that if I played by this new set of rules, I would be able to maintain at least some semblance of my old life. If I took a long enough nap late in the day, I should be able to gather enough energy to be in fine form for the flamenco show. That’s what I thought. What was supposed to be a short nap turned into over an hour. I peeled my eyes open, groggy and heavy. The voice inside said, ‘Get up, shake it off!’ so I put on my flamenco shoes and dragged myself into position to practice our set.

I noticed right away that the music was coming in muffled through my right ear, the one that’s been plugged periodically for the last couple of months. Nausea set in after my first spin, and every stamp of my nailed shoes reverberated through my bones. This distraction threw me offbeat, and suddenly, I had no idea what the next move was. I panicked and tried again, but my body lagged behind. I just couldn’t keep up.

The doctor said these medications would make me feel old, physically and mentally. The thought of getting ready for the show overwhelmed me. There are many voices arguing in my head: ‘Do it again, practice!’; ‘Just lay down, you’ll be okay’; ‘Forget it, who are you kidding?’; ‘Tough it out! Stop being dramatic!’ I fall into bed, sobbing uncontrollably because I know it’s not going to happen.

There is a tug of war between the part of me that is fighting for what I feel should be mine and having to let it go because I have to. The new set of rules is that it changes moment by moment. The lesson? There is no wisdom to be found in the midst of a messy meltdown. I only have this blank page to spew out my discontent because I need to let it out so I won’t implode. I’m angry that what I was looking forward to was snatched away from me. I’m grieving the fact that I can’t plan to look forward to something. I’m grieving the days lost in sleep.

I understand the lesson about letting go and living in the moment—an enlightening way to strive to be. I keep receiving this message repeatedly, but when the moment takes me away from what lights me up, I feel utterly defeated. Then, the guilt of admitting defeat drowns me under the wave of self-loathing. The internal conflict rages on – one side mothering the wounded child, the other seething and clinging to all that I used to be. One side yearning for a sense of control and predictability, the other acknowledging the futility of such desires on an unpredictable health journey.

People keep saying how strong, courageous, and beautiful I am. The truth is, that is how I used to see myself. That version of me is fading into something else that I can’t find. I don’t recognize what I’m morphing into, and it’s scary. I’m at that place that happens in every painting process—the place where I have no idea how to move forward, where everything doesn’t look right, and I don’t know how to fix it. I feel vulnerable and exposed in this stuck place. The only thing that keeps me going is trusting the process. If I just keep showing up in front of the canvas, something eventually shifts, and my whole perspective on the painting changes, allowing me to break the spell — to find beauty and meaning where it wasn’t before.

I know I will come up for air with a fresh look around. If not now, it will come. Thank God for my angel of a husband, who envelops me in his love no matter what state I’m in. Even when I want to push him away, he holds me until I eventually melt into him. He cries with me, and in doing so, he helps me open up the floodgates so I can just let it all rip, allowing me to feel everything just as it is.

LESSON: THE RULES CHANGE MOMENT TO MOMENT